Post Operation-Time to Heal
6:30 a.m. arrives really early for a second-shifter. Still, there I was in my pre-operation cubicle — just a space off the hall, only big enough for a bed, sink and chair with a curtain for an outer wall — wearing my hospital gown and cap and waiting to have my left ovary and accompanying 6-centimeter cyst removed.
The anesthesiologist stopped by to explain I would be under general anesthesia — completely under — and so would require a “breathing apparatus.” A breathing apparatus? I really should have expected it, but it caught me off guard and I didn’t like it. I confided in my partner, Charlie, after the anesthesiologist had left that the idea of them cutting me open and removing a part of my body didn’t bother me in the least. The part I didn’t like was being entirely out of control of my own life. I didn’t like the thought going completely under, and I really didn’t like the need for a breathing tube. But I couldn’t do anything about it, so I tried not to think about it.
Lastly, my doctor came in to see if I had any last-minute questions. I asked if she would give everything in there a good lookover, explaining that I had been getting a lot of pain on my right side, more so than my left. I wondered if the 2-centimeter cyst on that ovary was also growing. She assured me she would thoroughly examine everything.
The nurse told me I would go to the operating room, then to a recovery room and then back to my pre-op cubby, where Charlie would be waiting. I fully expected to be quite nervous, but I wasn’t, really. I had a touch of nerves, but curiosity and surrealism overshadowed them. Hospital staff all around me glanced my way as they wheeled me back. The nurses turned my bed to wheel me into the operating room and WHAM!, right into the door frame. They then changed their minds and asked me if I could walk in. Uh, yeah.
A little something to help you relax
I walked into the room and thought, “huh, so this is it.” It looked just like they do on TV and movies: stark white with two large, round lights directly above the operating table. I laid down and stared at the lights, still feeling oddly calm and surreal.
“Amy, we’re going to give you some medication to help you relax.” I responded, “OK,” and then black. The next thing I remember was stirring slightly, blinking and blurrily seeing my nurse looking down at me.
“Amy, you’re all done and in recovery.”
“OK,” I mumbled and was out again.
Next, I was being wheeled back into the cubby and Charlie looked up, smiled and said, “there she is!”
So, do you want to know?
The nurses left me to rest for a bit. I looked over at Charlie.
“So, do you want to know?” he asked.
“Yes!” If I had been less groggy, he would have gotten a very sarcastic answer.
“She didn’t see any indication of cancer. I asked her three separate times and she said she had no reason to think you might have cancer.”
Thank God.
“It turns out your cyst was endometriosis,” he continued. “And it was your right ovary, not your left.”
Seriously?? I can understand a fuzzy ultrasound not distinguishing between a cyst and some other growth, but how in the world do they confuse the right from the left??
He said the doctor had come out mid-procedure to explain everything to him. She had said I have a lot of scar tissue from my appendectomy as a child, which skewed the ultrasound image. The doctor had brought out pictures of each ovary to show Charlie the difference. (I was so jealous!) The left ovary, he said, was small and looked to be healthy. It was pink with white. The doctor had told him she didn’t see anything wrong with it and didn’t see a need to remove it. (Yea!) The right ovary, on the other hand, was a very different story. He said it was large and cylindrical, like a bratwurst. He said it looked like a blood sausage. The doctor wanted to get that out and “dissect” it.
My knowledge of endometriosis is minimal, but isn’t it a uterus thing? Does this mean she also removed my uterus? I must confess this was a hopeful question. The amazing Dr. Christiane Northrup, in her books “Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom” and “The Wisdom of Menopause,” encourages readers to unconditionally love all their reproductive organs and part with them only if their lives depend upon it. I tried and failed. My uterus has been a massive pain in my abdomen since I was 14. I’m tired of it, tired of the pain. So I say let’s be rid of it once and for all.
Charlie had no idea whether she had removed my uterus. He said she had mentioned the organ more than once during their conversation, but he had been so “overwhelmed” by the pictures that he hadn’t fully heard everything she’d said. Sigh. Ah well, at least he’s cute. And I honestly can’t say I’d do better in his situation, unexpectedly having photos of a diseased body part thrust under my nose. I was disappointed when I learned no, she had only removed the ovary.
Pumba, with you, everything’s gas
Now all that remained was to head home and heal until my followup appointment on Aug. 21, when I would learn for sure I don’t have cancer and further discuss endometriosis with my doctor to see what treatment, if any, is needed in the future.
I had read prior to surgery that in a laparoscopic procedure, the abdominal cavity is pumped with oxygen to allow the doctor to see better and offer more room to work. I was not, however, prepared for just how much pain this gas produced. Some of it settled in my shoulders, forcing me to beg Charlie for massages every day. (Happily, he’s quite good at it.) But most of it stayed in my right abdomen, pushing against the base of my lung, leaving me unable to take a deep breath without searing pain.
I awoke to use the restroom during the first night after surgery. Returning to bed, I attempted to lay down but felt something large and heavy roll in my abdomen. It felt like something had been accidentally cut loose and was freely moving about. It was the weirdest feeling I had ever experienced, and the pain it created made me yell out — while Charlie snored away. I told him about it the next morning, wondering what it could be. He later told one of his coworkers about it. She had also had the surgery and said, yep, that’s the gas bubble! Lovely. Thankfully, the gas pain mostly cleared up within a few days.
The only other hurdle to my recovery was my poor throat. My tonsils and uvula were swollen and irritated due to the breathing tube. I felt like I had a walnut hanging in my throat. My uvula was hitting the back of my tongue, triggering my swallowing reflex and making me want to gag. The pain felt when swallowing was similar to that with strep. This took a full week to heal completely. How is it possible that I experienced almost no pain where they cut me open and removed a body part, but the irritation to my throat made me miserable?
Aug. 21 appointment – the flip flop
The doctor entered the room for my followup appointment on Aug. 21 and immediately said, “You don’t have endometriosis. It was a cyst, after all.” Wait. So let me get this straight. First I was diagnosed with a cyst. Then after seeing it in surgery, you said it was actually endometriosis, but now we’re back on cyst? And people wonder why I don’t like or trust doctors.
Still, she assured me that this time we have the correct diagnosis after thoroughly studying the specimen (my ovary) in the lab. I had a hemorrhagic corpus luteum cyst, which means a bleeding cyst. She said the lab results showed no presence of cancer or precancerous cells. She looked closely at everything and found no sign endometriosis. Albeit annoying, this was excellent news!
The doctor showed me the pictures she had shown Charlie. Being able to see my uterus and ovaries was very cool. Sure enough, just as Charlie had described, the left ovary looked pink and healthy while the right was a dark reddish-brown and noticeably swollen. She said the left ovary was a bit larger than it should be, and we’ll have to keep an eye on it. She hinted that I might need to have it removed at some point and basically said the only reason she didn’t remove it in this surgery was because I had stressed to only remove it if it were a matter of life and death. I want to keep my natural hormones and allow menopause to occur naturally, if at all possible.
She also pointed out a small fibroid on my uterus, but other than that, she said it was very healthy. Considering my age and my prevalent family history of uterine fibroids, this was fantastic news.
So that’s where I stand. I now have only one ovary with questionable health. Everything else looks to be in great shape, for which I am obviously quite pleased. I go back for another ultrasound in two months to look for any changes in that left ovary. Let’s hope it decides to behave itself.